by Matt Dunn
Julie hasn’t seen him, so—conscious I don’t have much of a window of opportunity—I recognize I need to think of a way to get Tom to stop, and the most obvious way to do that seems to be to get the Alsatian to stop. That it’s considerably larger than I am presents me with a problem.
I glance back at Julie. She’s let me off my leash and is currently engrossed in something on her phone. I quickly decide there’s nothing else for me to do, so I sprint off on an interception course, hoping the Alsatian might think I’m interested in playing, or at least might stop and sniff me hello: if not, I’ll just have to throw myself in its path and try to bring it to a halt that way. Too late, it occurs to me that the beast might take one look at a smaller, wild-eyed, tongue-lolling cruise missile of a dog barreling toward him, snorting furiously from the effort, and suspect less than friendly intentions, something confirmed by the way the Alsatian suddenly rounds on me. Before I know what’s happening, there’s a flash of teeth, a shower of saliva, and my left ear’s caught painfully in the creature’s fangs.
All I can do is whimper pathetically, while desperately looking around for Tom, as Julie screams at the brute to let me go. The blasted devil-dog’s not even wearing a collar, and just when I’m at the stage where I’m wondering whether my ear’s actually going to come off in its teeth, from behind us there’s a purposeful “Rambo! No!” Then Tom swoops in, performs some daringly magical maneuver with his hands in the Alsatian’s mouth, and frees me from the jaws of death. In a scene reminiscent of The Lion King, Tom scoops me off the ground, lifts me up above his head so the leaping beast can’t reach me and shouts, “Home, Rambo!”
He hands me to Julie, and I realize I’ve never been more grateful to see him. Whether Julie feels the same way, it’s hard to tell, as she’s too busy examining my ear.
“Are you okay?” she says. She’s almost in tears, and though the question’s directed at me, Tom nods.
“Yeah. Rambo was just playing.”
“Not you!” she says sharply, causing Tom’s smile to disappear as if a switch has been flicked. “Doug?”
I whimper quietly, then furtively check the appropriately-named Rambo’s whereabouts, relieved to see he’s heading home as instructed. My ear stings a lot, but Rambo doesn’t appear to be chewing anything, which would assume it’s still attached to the rest of me.
“He should be on a leash,” Julie says angrily, as Rambo trots off across the grass, perhaps on his way to assault some other innocent canine, and Tom nods.
“He should.”
“So why isn’t he?” Julie shakes her head angrily. “People like you shouldn’t be allowed to own dogs.”
“I don’t!”
“Don’t tell me—no one actually owns a dog, they’re just staying with you, blah blah blah.”
“That’s...” Tom looks a little confused at Julie’s rant, and he’s not the only one. “He’s, um, not my dog.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Well, how did you know his name?”
She’s sharp, Julie. Why on earth she lets Luke get away with everything he does and says I don’t know. Then again, they say love is blind. And maybe deaf, as well.
“His owner. Emily. She brings him in all the time.” Tom narrows his eyes in the direction Rambo’s just run. “He escapes a lot. And gets into fights.”
“Brings him in?” Julie’s still not showing any acknowledgment that she’s recognized him, though that could of course be down to how their last meeting went, or specifically, the way they parted.
“To the office,” says Tom, removing his cap and sunglasses, though his sunglasses get caught in the cord of his headphones, and end up hanging off the side of his head.
“Oh,” says Julie, at the sight of Tom’s big reveal, followed by a longer “Oh! It’s you.”
“Hi,” says Tom. “Tom, remember? We met at...”
“Dot’s. Well, yours too, I suppose.” She reaches up with her free hand, and for a moment I worry she’s going to make the L for Loser sign like the other day, but it’s just to push a strand of loose hair off her face. “Sorry. And apologies for my little outburst. I was just concerned about Doug.”
“Understandably so.”
“And you, of course. That was very brave of you, wading in like that.”
“Well, sometimes you come across a bad situation, and you just have to...intervene.”
“Right,” says Julie, though it’s hard to interpret her tone. “I don’t know what got into him. He’s normally so...placid.”
Tom grins. “I’m sure Doug had his reasons. They’re very intelligent dogs, pugs. Originally bred as lapdogs for Chinese monarchs, you know? And loyal. Devoted to their owners. You can trace the breed back some two thousand years.”
“Right,” says Julie, again. “Well, thank you for the TED talk, but...”
“It’s Tom,” says Tom, his grin widening. “Not Ted.”
After a moment—and it looks suspiciously like a moment moment, like in those soppy Sunday afternoon films Julie sometimes makes me sit through—Tom turns his attention back to me. “Want me to take a look at the little chap?”
“No, don’t worry. I’m sure he’s...” I do a little snort-whimper and cross my eyes, partly because my ear does hurt, but also because I’d have to have sustained a brain injury to not comprehend that this is another of those opportunities Priya was talking about the other day. “Perhaps you’d better. If you don’t mind?”
“Not at all,” says Tom.
Julie carries me over to a nearby bench, where she sets me down softly, then Tom squats down in front of me and gently examines my ear. “Good boy, Doug,” he says, and I give the briefest of wags with my tail, in an attempt to convey that I am a good boy, but that I’m in a little bit of discomfort here.
As Tom gently fingers the wound, I look up at Julie. She’s watching me anxiously, but every now and again, her eyes flick across at Tom, as if she’s checking him out, or perhaps even considering forgiving him for his outburst the other day. Either way, I should be celebrating, I suppose, at what’s the smallest of victories. Even though he is a V-E-T. And even though it might have cost me an ear.
After a moment, Tom stands back up again, a not-all-that-concerned expression on his face. “He’ll live,” he says, much to the relief of all present. “It doesn’t actually look too bad. Probably best to get it properly cleaned, though, and pop in a few stitches. Just in case.”
“Right. Well.” Julie looks down at me and smiles flatly. “I’ll make an appointment with my...”
“No need,” says Tom. “My office is just on the other side of the park. I just stepped out for an after-work run, so if you want, I could pop them in for you now.”
I’m just wondering exactly how you “pop” stitches in, when Julie looks at her watch. “I don’t know. I’ve got to...”
“Ten minutes, tops,” says Tom. “And best to get his ear properly cleaned straightaway, otherwise...” He makes a face that I don’t like the look of, then smiles, though I don’t find it very comforting. This is the kind of thing that happens on the path to true love, if the likes of Bridget Jones are to be believed, so if my small sacrifice helps get Julie and Tom together, I suppose it’s been worth it.
“Tom, that would be very kind of you,” she says, and he smiles at her again, a big, warm smile, that, when it’s turned in my direction, radiates all the way down to the tip of my tail.
“Plus it’ll be a way for me to apologize.”
“What for?”
“For the other day. At the barbecue. I was feeling a little sensitive, and I’d had a beer or three, and I realize both that I have trust issues, and that I need to stop tarring everyone with the same brush, so...” Tom looks like he’s about to make some sort of admission, though he evidently chickens out. “Well, long story short, I shouldn’t have given you a le
cture.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” says Julie, but in a way that suggests she’s not really giving Tom one either.
“So?” he says. “I promise not to get on my high horse.”
“In that case, it’s a deal.”
And I’m happy, because even though it’s a deal and not a date, she’s not making it a big one.
* * *
Tom’s a good V-E-T. I hardly feel a thing, even though he gives me an injection, shaves the patch where I’ve been bitten, then pops six stitches in my ear. The one part of the whole arrangement I’m not happy about is having to wear one of those ridiculous plastic cones around my head that make me look like I’ve become stuck in a lampshade. I spend the whole walk back to the car trying to avoid bumping into things and struggling to smell anything, while praying I don’t see anyone I know. And while Julie didn’t take Tom’s number, Tom didn’t ask for Julie’s, and the only contact they’re planning to have is when I go back to have my stitches removed at the end of the week, that’s something, I suppose.
As we reach the car, I wonder if this is Luke’s legacy. Tom’s okay-looking—for a human—with a nice smile, kind eyes, a sense of humor, and he’s got a job that women are supposed to find attractive, and yet Julie seemed keener than I was to get out of there.
On the way home we stop off at the supermarket to pick up some chewy dog treats, something that would normally fill me with excitement, though this time I know it’s only so Julie can attempt to hide my antibiotic tablets in them. And it occurs to me that perhaps Julie needs whatever the relationship equivalent of antibiotics is, in order to get Luke out of her system once and for all.
Maybe that’s a role that Tom can fulfill.
But with Luke due to come round this evening, getting Julie to agree to swallow that particular pill might be even harder still.
11
There’s a wonderful smell coming from the kitchen, and I’m just about to trot in and help Julie by offering to take another taste of the chili con carne she’s cooking when a different, less-welcome scent assaults my nostrils. Luke likes a particular brand of body cologne that—at least according to the advertisements—ensures you’re mobbed by beautiful women, often on a desert island beach, the moment you so much as uncap the bottle, and the overpowering whiff of it I’m suddenly getting can only mean one thing. I race along the hall, and I’m standing, growling, at the front door when Julie narrows her eyes at me.
“Doug!” she says, firmly, so I reluctantly step away from the door so Julie can open it, then scamper back to the kitchen. After a moment, and one thankfully free of the usual sound of Luke’s “hum” from their kiss hello (which I’m assuming means no kiss), Luke marches into the kitchen, throws his car keys onto the table, catches sight of me, and grins scornfully at me.
“Nice cone, Doug.”
This, I understand, is something called “sarcasm,” though I’m not sure what the appropriate response is. All I know is it’s frowned upon to laugh at someone’s disability, so Luke’s not doing himself any favors in terms of karma, at least. I can’t exactly bite him, so I just snort as disdainfully as possible. A sound amplified by the conical plastic, I’m pleased to note.
Julie picks up a nacho from the bowl on the table and tosses it toward me, though the cone’s quite disorientating, and instead of catching it in my jaws, I only succeed in getting it wedged infuriatingly beneath my chin.
“He got attacked in the park on the way home,” she says, reaching in and removing the offending tidbit, before carefully feeding it to me.
“Right,” says Luke, who appears to be wondering whether showing concern for me might help his cause this evening, though he quickly decides he can’t be bothered. “Having a bad ear day, eh, Doug?” he jokes, though neither I nor Julie find it funny.
Despite this, I march up to him and sit at his feet, pointedly right in between him and Julie.
“So?” Julie says, obviously still mad at him, though Luke has the air of someone who thinks he’s already gotten away with it.
“So... You looked hot at work,” he says, reaching to take her in his arms, a move my expert positioning makes a little awkward.
“Did I,” says Julie, though it’s not phrased as a question.
“You did. You always do. Especially now.”
“Don’t think you can get around me that easily.”
“What?”
“You said you’d explain.” Julie calmly removes his hands from where he’s snaked them around her waist. “About your wife.”
“What about her?”
“The fact you’re still sleeping with her. Despite what you said.”
Luke harrumphs, like he’s having to repeat something to a stupid child. “Like I told you, I have to. Otherwise she’d get suspicious. And it’s not like I enjoy it or anything.”
“And the fact that she’s pregnant?”
“Which is why I can’t leave her. Not yet, anyway,” he adds, quickly. “I mean, how would that look?”
“So you’re going to leave her when the baby’s born?”
“Yeah,” says Luke, then he hesitates, either because that’s perhaps not the most honorable thing to admit, or because he’s wary about making a commitment. “Obviously not straightaway. I’ll just hang around long enough to make sure.”
“Make sure?”
“Yeah.” Luke spots Julie’s wineglass on the table, half fills it and gulps most of that down. “That it’s not mine. Then...” He finishes off the rest of the glass, then makes some gesture with his fingers that I guess is designed to show him making a run for it. “Then I’ll have a reason to leave her.”
“You’ve got a reason to leave her!” Julie wails, adding a plaintive, “Me!” in response to Luke’s vacant expression.
“You know what I mean.”
Julie retrieves another wineglass from the cupboard, then waits for Luke to fill it up for her. When he doesn’t, she empties the rest of the bottle into it herself. “But, um, at the risk of asking the obvious question...” She swallows a mouthful of wine. And then another one. “What if it is?”
“What if what is?”
“The baby. Yours.”
Luke shrugs. “It’s not going to be, is it?”
“Why not?”
“Well, because she’s been, you know...” Luke waits for Julie to fill in the gap, then evidently realizes the ball’s firmly in his court this evening. “Seeing someone else. And even if it is... Like I said, that’s her trying to trap me, isn’t it? And that’s not right. So she can’t possibly expect me to stay with her. I mean, I’ll do my duty, you understand. Take the thing to the park at the weekend. Make sure it’s fed and watered. A bit like you do with Doug here...” He lets out a short laugh, cutting it even shorter when he catches sight of Julie’s scowl. “I’m kidding.”
“Not the most appropriate choice of words, Luke,” says Julie, and I snort even more derisively.
“Do we really have to be talking about this?” he says, wearily.
Julie stares at him in a “Yes, we do!” kind of way. “You’re the one who said you wanted to explain.”
“And I have. Haven’t I?” He throws his hands up in the air. “Look, I don’t know what more I can say. That’s how it is. You can either choose to believe me or not. And if you don’t...”
Luke looks pointedly at his watch, and—as if a switch has been flicked—Julie suddenly seems to worry she’s in danger of crossing that fine line between telling and pissing him off.
“I’m sorry,” she says, even though he’s the one who should be apologizing. “It’s just... Seeing you and her like that, and the fact that she’s...”
“I know, I know. It’s tough for us all,” Luke says, though by the looks of things, it isn’t tough for him at all. “It must have been a shock for you. Trust me, it was for me! But just give me a bit
more time. Can you do that? For me? For us?”
Julie hesitates for a moment, notices Luke’s glass is emptier than hers—but not as empty as the wine bottle—so tips half of hers into his, and gives him a small—and rather inappropriate, to my mind—cheers.
“I suppose,” she says, crossing the kitchen to check on the simmering pot. “But I’m still mad at you. For lying to me.”
“That was because I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Well, you did!”
“And I’m sorry,” says Luke, though he sounds a bit exasperated. “Really I am. So let’s just put this behind us, and...”
He fixes what I imagine is supposed to be a seductive smile on his face, marches across to where Julie’s standing, and begins to unbutton her blouse, but she bats his hands away.
“Sorry, Luke. I’m just...not in the mood.”
“Well, what am I doing here then?”
“I don’t know.” Julie throws her hands up in frustration. “I thought maybe we could just have dinner. Talk some more. Spend a normal adult evening together.”
The implication is “like a normal couple,” and Luke stuffs his hands into his pockets like a sulky teenager. “Fine,” he says, glancing down at me, and I meet his gaze. “Only, do you fancy going out?”
“Out out?” says Julie, the surprise evident in her voice. “I didn’t think we were supposed to...?”
“I was thinking takeout. In the car. We could park up somewhere?”
“Oh,” says Julie, suddenly disappointed.
“It’s just that...” Luke jabs a thumb down at me, like a Roman emperor ordering a kill. “Doug always seems to be giving me the evils. And it’d be good to be on our own. The two of us. Just you and me...”
He’s said the same thing three times, as if Julie’s stupid, which she isn’t—though right now she is doing a pretty good impression of someone who could do with an injection of common sense.